


Drinks, Dinner, and a Show

by Eregul



Category: Shadowrun
Genre: Heist, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:00:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 18,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27544237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eregul/pseuds/Eregul
Summary: The set-up, the run, the aftermath.Updates Tuesday and Friday.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 3





	1. The Pitch

"Daniel!" said Amash, coming up behind him and putting a large hand on his shoulder, "up for a drink tonight?"

"I've got a fair bit still to finish on the Servin business," replied Daniel. "Rain check?"

"Surely you've got time for a beer," said Amash. He gave "beer" no undue stress. Daniel looked him in the eyes and saw the smallest contraction of the corner of the left one. It was not a wink; not even the beginning of one.

"Well, all right. If you're buying."

"Just the first!" laughed Amash and stomped off.

Later, with beer in hand: "So what have you got?"

"You'll like this," said Amash. "Right up your alley. What would you say is Green Lion Security's competitive advantage??"

"'Green Lion Security provides holistic, aggressive solutions in all areas of security, from the physical plane to the astral'," began Daniel, somewhat bored by the question. He looked around. He liked Halligan's. Dark, filled with executives like him and Amash who were drawn by the extensive beer selection. That the booths came with built-in white noise and optic blurring to prevent eavesdropping was also nice. Of course Amash had his own generator out and running discreetly: even Halligan's staff could be bought.

"Daniel. I've seen our ads too. I WROTE them. Short answer."

"Short answer? We're better against Awakened threats."

"Right. We can COMPETE against Matrix and physical threats, but what DIFFERENTIATES us is the ease with which we geek the mage. Take a look at this. It goes out in a week." He brought up an ad on his commlink and they watched it together. Daniel sipped his beer.

"Well," he said, "that's pretty clear. Guangwu's going to come at us hard."

"They ARE coming at us hard. This is just the formal challenge, the GAUNTLET thrown down. They beat us out for the contract on the new thaumaturgical research lab off Riverside." A gulp of beer. "I'd like to do something about that."

Daniel started to get excited. "Got anything in mind?" Ever since Amash had dropped the keyword "beer", he had been waiting to learn what the job was.

"As a matter of fact I do. It would be a pity if that new lab got hit just as these ads start running. Ironic, really: just as Guangwu starts a massive ad campaign, the news of their failure comes out. Shame. So if some runners went in, lifted a few items--well.

"So I spoke to our mutual friend Mr. Laga, who paged through his little black book and found us a team that he thinks is perfect. A fair bit of magical oomph, a reputation for professionalism, such as it is, and a sweet little kicker that he would neither confirm nor deny. I want you to take point on this one, Daniel. For a couple of reasons."

Daniel had been the Johnson on several runs before, but never of this importance. "What are those reasons?"

"Well, I may be transferring soon,"--a sip of beer, a contraction of the left eye--"and I want to be sure this section's in good hands. You've done solid work before but you need to show that you're ready to step in to solo when I move out and up. A second, the rumor about this team is that one of the runners is someone you'd take a personal interest in. Fanboy."

"Really." Daniel hid his excitement as well as he could, but his hand tightened around his glass until the knuckles went white.

"Really. I've taken the liberty of setting up a meet at Talin's. Tomorrow night. We'll go over the details at work."

"Thanks. For this."

"Not a problem. I'll have Marta go with you, just in case. And Daniel--don't get bit."


	2. The Meet

The next night found Daniel--now "Mr. Johnson"--sitting at a quiet table at Talin's. He had a view of the entire room as well as the city laid out beneath them, the distance softening the fog and lights into a Van Gogh landscape. Talin's was not empty: there were a few tables with couples obviously spending more than they could afford; a troll in an impeccably tailored dinner jacket debating the etymology of the word 'shaman' with a human wearing what had to be his father's poorly fitting, years out of date suit; a skinny elf in NightShade checking her stylish commlink ever few minutes, whose expression boded ill for her date. But it was empty enough for his purposes. He went over what he and Amash had talked about. Amash's advice had been simple.

"Get there early, and get yourself some dinner first. There's no point in wasting a good meal on runners. They'll show up late, dressed like thugs or at best in knock-off Berwick. Binh will let you know when they arrive. Flip them a decent tip."

He had finished his meal and had a cup of coffee before him when Binh messaged him that his guests had arrived. Unusually, there was  
no passive-aggressive tone--Binh loved their restaurant, and they did not like it when guests "lowered the tone". Daniel had intended to wait at the table ("to set the right power balance", as Amash put it), but curiosity made him rise to meet his guests at the entrance.

When he got there he saw why Binh had approved. The elf was indeed checking a Mortimer naval coat, but rather than one from six or seven years ago with obvious and embarrassing patches it was vintage, from Mortimer's first decade in business. Which made it more older than Daniel, and more stylish to boot. But the human woman standing there caught and held the eye.

The elf was tall, but the woman next to him was a full two meters. She was dressed in a fine suit of midnight blue that set off her pale skin, of a severe and martial cut only accentuated by the severe single braid of her blonde hair. Daniel was relieved to see that she had no obvious weapons, as the last runner team had had to be persuaded to leave their SMG with the host. He greeted them, and was amused to see heads turn as they moved to the table. So much for discretion. Even the furious woman at the bar looked up from sending what must have been a scorching message as they passed.

"Mister... Griefer?" began Daniel. "I am Mr. Johnson. Nice to meet you."

"Mr. Johnson," said the elf, and smiled. "These names! I have all the respect for tradition in the world, but it is sometimes hard to keep a straight face when making a deal with someone called 'Squasha' or 'Tha Big Boot'. Yes, for my sins I am Griefer."

Daniel found himself smiling back. The last team but one had been led by someone calling himself "Blacknoir". "I wasn't told you were bringing an associate," he said, to try to regain some of the austerity he was hoping to portray.

"My apologies. While I speak for our team, you will understand that no one is master of all matters. Allow my to introduce you to Miss Buttons (these names!), who is versed in certain spheres. So between us we can better assess how best to achieve your goals. Mr. Johnson, Miss Buttons. Miss Buttons, Mr. Johnson."

"How d'you do," said Daniel, holding out a hand. Miss Buttons took it in hers. She was wearing soft cloth gloves of the same midnight blue as her suit. He held it briefly while he looked in her eyes. They were light blue and seemed natural. In fact there was no sign of 'ware on her whatsoever. He let go of her hand and took a sip of coffee to compose himself.

"I understand that your group has a certain amount of magical ability," he began.

"Pardon me," said Griefer, "but I would like to be precise. We are by nature not so much a magically inclined team as a counter-magically inclined one."

"I'm sorry?" said Daniel.

"I beg your pardon. What I mean is simply this. We do not specialize in magical solutions, but rather in removing magical problems. A subtle distinction, but one which may be important."

"I see." Daniel took a sip of coffee. "That shouldn't be an issue. This job should be in your wheelhouse."

"I hope so. One that note, perhaps we could hear more about it?"

Daniel realized that he had lost control over the pace of the conversation, but started in on his summary of the run. Griefer and Miss Buttons listened without interruption until he finished. Then Griefer started asking questions about what Daniel knew of the items he wanted removed. Were they likely to need any special containment? Would they leave an astral trail?

When Griefer seemed satisfied Miss Buttons took over. She asked about the layout of the lab, who was running security (Daniel feigned ignorance), and other tactical matters. Where Griefer was prolix she was laconic. They had gone over the little Daniel knew on the matter when the elf made an off-hand remark about spending too much time on the wrong end of the divided line. Daniel looked at him.

"Do you mean Plato?" he asked, a smile forming.

"I do," said Griefer, clearly surprised. "We spend our days amongst false images and so rarely give ourselves to the Real. Forgive me, Mr. Johnson, but are you philosophically inclined?"

"I minored in philosophy," said Daniel, "despite my father's displeasure." Now he's got me talking like that, he thought.

They chatted happily about Plato, philosophy, and parental disapproval for a quarter of an hour. Miss Buttons followed the conversation with neither comment nor obvious boredom. Somehow they also discussed payment, and Daniel found that he had offered a full twenty percent more than he had intended. So much for my slush fund, he thought.

They reached a lull, and Daniel found that, despite Amash's advice, he liked these runners. He set a message to Binh, who shortly thereafter arrived at the table with a bottle and three glasses.

"We'll need to toast," he said, "to our success." Binh opened the bottle and poured. Griefer took glass in hand and swirled, watching the legs run down the sides of it.

"I'm happy to do so," he said. "But I must apologize. Miss Buttons is a teetotaler, and will drink no alcohol. Perhaps a mineral water?"

"On the contrary," said Daniel, "I insist." He let the statement edge toward a command. Now we'll see, he thought.

Griefer stood up. His genial mannerisms had dropped away and his eyes were dangerous. "Mr. Johnson," he said, "I don't believe that you understand our relationship in its entirety. We are not your corporate employees, beholden to you for all things and at your beck and call. I see no reason to play your little power games." He stopped when Miss Buttons put a gloved hand on his arm and looked down at her.

"It's all right," she said (what was that accent? Something Nordic). "I'll have just a sip."

"Are you sure?" said Griefer, and sat when she nodded. The expression on his face remained fierce. "If you will have it so."

They raised their glasses and drank in silence.

"Ah," said Daniel. "You should also know that--" he launched into a description of the likely security measures on the periphery of the building, some of which Miss Buttons had already drawn out in her questioning. As he spoke he watched her. Her pale skin seemed to grow paler--or was he imagining it? Griefer, too, was watching her, although trying hard not to show it.

After several minutes of talk, Miss Buttons excused herself. She headed for the restroom, following the elf in NightShade, who also apparently had reached a level of incandescent rage that called for privacy. Daniel and Griefer continued talking until her return, now about less important matters.

"Well, that's just about everything," said Daniel. "Is there anything else you need?"

"Not at this time," said Griefer, who had regained his pleasant demeanor. "We have the job, and we'll contact you when it's complete." He and Miss Buttons rose. "Good night, Mr. Johnson." Daniel poured himself the last of the bottle as they left. Well? he sent.

She went straight into a stall & very daintily regurgitated, replied Marta. She had returned to her place at the bar and ordered an espresso. I believe we can call that strong evidence in favor of the hypothesis Mr Abrams.

What about Griefer?

His aura reads minimally Awakened. Hes able to perceive the astral. She reads mundane but what else would you expect?

Masking?

Almost certainly. & she was wearing an illusion.

Daniel considered. Amash had told him that magic at the meet was a deal-breaker. But he had meant mental manipulation or similar, surely. Or am I making excuses for her? he asked himself. What did she really look like? he sent.

I couldnt tell, replied Marta. Daniel could sense her irritation from his seat.

Thank you, he sent. He closed his eyes and smiled. He had had a fantastic meal. He was drinking a fine bottle of wine. He was moving up the corporate ladder. He had just met with a vampire. He was so very happy.


	3. Leaving the Meet

Outside, as they moved away: Hold for 15 then break, sent Griefer to Red Rose. Relay 2 Alice O. Then, aloud, "Whew! Glad that's done. You did perfectly."

"Thanks," said Buttons. She had questions but knew better than to ask them immediately. They walked several blocks in silence.

"I'm going to drop the spell," said Griefer. Buttons felt only the sensation of something cool slipping off her face. She reached up, touched her cheekbones, her tusks.

"Clear?" she asked, and her voice was her own again, rougher and deeper than the one she had used at the meet.

"Clear." What Buttons thought of as Griefer's 'rich kid act' dropped away without a trace. He could act like a Tir princeling but she had been to his home. There had been three tiny rooms: one with his books (hard copy!) and equipment; one with a heavy bag hanging in the middle of it and just enough space to punch it; and a closet where he clearly slept. He added flavors to his soy by hand and boiled water over a tiny camp stove.

"Still don't get it," said Buttons.

"There's a rumor about us," said Griefer. "And we need to squelch it. This was step one." A silent shadow joined them. "The Peach's intel on our Mr. Johnson was neatly confirmed when he accepted the Plato gambit. The other piece also, since our Mr. Johnson is said to be an aficionado of all things vampiric. In fact I suspect that Kirin hooked him up with us for that reason." The three walked along together for another block.

"Alice?" asked Buttons. "You good with this?" The shadow nodded but said nothing. As they passed under one of the few working street lamps it briefly became a pale, oddly lovely human, then, out of the circle of light, Alice Other disappeared into obscurity again.

Bring it in yall, sent Red Rose. Astral clear. Buttons ur guns awful tired of me holding her. Did u have to program her so jelly? & she called me a tea sipping fox. Should I b insulted?

Buttons waved a hand in the air. Hi Meimei! she sent on a private channel.

Jiejie! Come rescue me from the clutches of this harlot!

B there in 2 shakes. U behave cerri.

Yes Jiejie.

Matrix clear, came a message from the Peach. A heavy pickup pulled up next to them, and the three climbed in, Griefer in front, Alice Other and Buttons in back. In the driver's seat, her feet dangling well above the foot controls, sat the diminutive form of the Peach.

"In person," said Griefer. "We're honored."

Yeah, because she wants to bang you like a kukra drum, thought Buttons. Does he really not know or is he being Mr. Subtle Elf? The Peach blushed and muttered something about wanting to be on-site in case of trouble. The pickup started down the street at her unspoken command.

"Any tails?" asked Griefer.

"Nothing," said the Peach. "I had eyes on you the whole way."

"Thank you," said Griefer. "An excellent start. We have our Mr. Johnson. And unless I miss my guess the elf at the bar was high up on his magical security team. Hermetic mage, initiate." He paused. "Not someone I want to tangle with."

"Plenty of footage on her," said Buttons, touching her temple. Buttons had made the elf when she had rushed to the restroom to pretend to vomit. Griefer had doubtless spotted her on the astral. "Matches the description of Green Lion's chief of thaumaturgical operations. Name of Marta Heck. Mr. Johnson is Daniel Abrams. Up and comer. Has a good rep."

"So we dive in a bit to be sure that this isn't a double-cross. We'll meet up tomorrow. I need some sleep! Peach, can you drop me off first?"

Griefer was dropped several blocks from his ride, and walked off with a wave and "G'night!" The Peach took them on a series of epicyclical loops, then dropped Buttons and Alice Other off.

"G'night," she sang. As the truck drove away Buttons saw the license plate shift and the truck's paint change from dirty blue to dirty red. The Peach was a professional and did not take chances.

"G'night," said Alice Other softly, and was gone.

G'night, sent Red Rose

"G'night," said Buttons to no one. She walked to her bike. She needed to go soothe her gun's hurt feelings, ride home, and get some sleep herself.


	4. The Plan

The next day they met at the Peach's place. She lived over the shop she worked at, and, while much of the house was set up for a gnome's stature, she made sure that her friends could be comfortable while they talked. Buttons sat up straight, her back not touching the chair. Griefer was leaning over the low table, bringing up more schematics. Red Rose had one of her horrible energy drinks in hand and was trying to get the Peach to try some. And Alice Other was well away from the window, even with the shades drawn tight.

"Despite Mr. Johnson's claims of ignorance," said Griefer, "he must know that Guangwu was just contracted for security. This is not just a heist, but also a maneuver to embarrass a competitor. Two birds, meet one stone."

The Peach had escaped Red Rose and came over to the table to stand next to Griefer. "Buttons and I looked into Guangwu," she said. "They're jockeying for the top spot for astral security. I'd expect magical countermeasures to be especially tough."

"Any chance you got specifics on this building?"

"Sorry, no. Too tight, and we wanted to keep it quiet." The Peach looked a bit embarrassed.

"Right call," said Buttons.

"But!" said the Peach, "I got some of the invoices from the construction company they worked with for it. Check this out." She sent her teammates the files.

"That's... intimidating," said Griefer. Alice Other said nothing but highlighted a section for all to see.

"Ooh, UV filters," said Red Rose. "No cheat code this round Alice."

"I see a lot of real wood here, too," said Griefer. "We're going to need to change our routine." He considered. "Okay. Alice, I know you're usually point, but not for this one. Peach, you have enough minis?" The Peach nodded. "So ka. We'll get what we can from recon and then plan the entry. Mr. Johnson wants this done within the next four days. Unless we learn something new, it'll be me and the Peach inside, with Red Rose and Alice as second line. Buttons, you'll be on overwatch, Matrix and fire support."

"Check," said Buttons.

"For now swing by and get whatever you can from passive echo. Don't linger."

"Also smell," said Buttons. "Surprising what you can learn."

"O-kay. Rosie, can you find a perch and scope the astral? I don't expect we'll learn much, but even an estimate of the force of the ward would be nice. They haven't been in residence that long; maybe fortune will favor us and the temporary one will still be up. Be careful--they'll surely be alert to anyone magically active."

"Got it," said the human. She was flipping her combat knife in the air and catching it by the blade between the tips of her fingers. Her eyes were closed.

"Peach, if you would keep a loose surveillance perimeter on the building? Let's get as many faces as we can. Also anything we can learn about electronic trouble. They have a spider, surely?"

"Yes," said the Peach. "Three, in fact. SOP for Guangwu is for them to work in overlapping ten hour shifts. Two hours on each end with a partner."

"That's a long shift. Someone might get distracted in the middle. Let's keep that in mind. I'll do some more digging and see if I can learn anything from the staff."

"For me?" asked Alice.

"Right now," said Griefer, "not a lot. Sorry, Alice, but you're exactly the sort of threat they're best at taking out. Get your kit together and be ready. Do you need to top off?" She shook her head. "So. We'll meet back to finalize COA in two days. Then we move."


	5. The Run

It was such a good plan. Where had it gone wrong?

Griefer had no time to run through possible points of failure. Two security officers were headed his way, he had an attache full of magical artifacts that did not belong to him, and the Peach was busy keeping the spider from seeing them. His glasses gave him paths to the exit, but none of them avoided the guards. He sighed. He prided himself on their team's reputation for keeping things quiet, but it was about to become very noisy in here indeed.

Go 2 gamma, he sent. 2 on me. Jay Sparrow expect company.

Ack. Already otw Crow, sent Buttons. Ive got ears. 8, 1 asp sorc. Comin in hot & dangerous.

Red Rose sent an image of a dingo with an evil grin. She was looking forward to a brawl.

Griefer allowed himself a muttered "tech!" and then focused on the task at hand. As the guards approached he met their gazes ingenuously. "Something up, Singh?"

"Sorry, Mr. Reynolds," whose face Griefer was wearing. "Just got a code. We need everybody locked down. Can you come with us, please?" He was deferential but also clearly set on following procedure.

"Not a problem," said Griefer. The case slipped from his hand. "Drek!" he said, and as the two guards looked down for an instant he drew and fired.

The second guard--Jameson, Griefer finally remembered--took all three shots full in the chest. His light armored jacket did not protect him from the shock rounds, which left him twitching on the ground. Singh, faster and smarter, was already moving. He had his gun out as he and Griefer simultaneously dove for concealment in the office floor.

Two bullets punched through the thin half-wall behind which Griefer was crouched, far too close. Singh was good. Griefer sighed. He mentally focused and then put his head around the corner and waited. When Singh appeared Griefer let the spell go--too slow. Even as his lips turned blue and he passed into hypothermic shock, Singh got off a shot that hit Griefer high in the torso. Griefer stood up, almost sat right back down. He wasn't bleeding, thanks to his vest, but a rib was cracked. At least he wasn't leaving too much of a material link behind. He grabbed the case and started running. Light drain left phosphenes dancing in his vision.

Owl, he sent. I need out.

On it, replied the Peach. Head 4 the fire doors. AROs began blinking in his vision. Ill get it open by the time u get there. Other AROs showed the incoming guards converging on him. Griefer ran faster.

Warm welcome waiting, sent Buttons. She had tagged the incoming threat response crew into everyone's display. Griefer watched as Alice Other and Red Rose repositioned themselves to intercept. The Peach's field of fire was a shaded cone that moved with the armed drone she controlled.

No shot til ur on the exit route, sent Buttons. Matrix only. Owl u keep that spider bz.

Ack Grouse, sent Griefer. How are these guys here so fast? he thought. The answer was unpleasantly obvious.

The AROs disappeared. Owl? he sent, but got only an error back. The spider had noticed their intrusion. I hope the doors still open, he thought.

He hit the fire doors (which slid open for him unconcernedly) just as the first shot rang out behind him. Out in the street a group of men in combat armor pointed their weapons at him. "Stop right there," yelled one, and hell broke loose.


	6. The Run, II

Red Rose liked to dance. She liked pretty girls, loud music, and bright lights. She liked to keep her gear clean and oiled. But what she loved--LOVED--was things that went bang.

The mini-grenade went off right in the face of the response team leader. He fell to the ground, stunned and blinded. Around him his men responded with their weapons. Red Rose saw Griefer throw himself down, then concentrated on picking her targets. She Mozambique'd one beautifully, the third round smacking him clean in the faceplate, but he didn't fall. Insulated armor, the bastards. She ejected the clip, swapped it for armor piercing. Griefer didn't like it when they left bodies behind, but he would like it even less if one were his. Her magically enhanced reactions lent the scene a surreal slow-motion quality, as if everything were happening underwater. She put three more rounds into her target even as he was turning to attack. All in the chest, this time--no point in going out of her way to squelch the guy. He fell, and she took a moment to send a smoke grenade into the midst of the response team before side-stepping into position for her next target.

Alice Other hit her first from behind. His head snapped back and he crumpled as she danced away into the shadows. KILL HIM, said a voice inside her. She gave no answer. The smell of blood was in the air and she needed everything she had to control herself. STRIKE TO KILL. Shark's tail lashed. She did her best to ignore it, ignore her thirst. Then a bullet hit her in the shoulder and all she saw was red.

Command One: 5 how r u out? Reload!

No way Im out, sent Five. He ejected the (almost full) clip and slammed a new one home.

Im stuck on semi-auto, sent Three.

Buttons, in her Matrix persona of an icy blue wolf, bared her teeth. Wait till they try the grenades, she thought.

Hex hit these fraggers with a powerball, sent Command Two. 1 2nd, replied Hex. Im pinned down. 4 can u give covering fire?

Four sent nothing; his link was acting up. Then he sent nothing because someone drove her hands straight through his armor and deep into his body.

Griefer, flat on his back, assessed. Everything had gone to hell. Security forces from inside the building would hit them in seconds. He was pinned down and an easy target. Red Rose was enjoying herself: always a bad sign. The Peach had gone silent, which meant that she was having a tougher tangle with the spider than expected. He needed her jumped in. Buttons was out of position, hopefully doing SOMETHING useful over the wireless. And where was Alice Other? Even as he asked the question he heard the scream that answered it. Tech! He needed to change the situation now, or this would turn into a bloodbath. He got to one knee.

Looking up, he saw Alice raising the body of one of the response team. She had literally torn into him through his armor and as he watched she threw him screaming against the transport, its lights still flashing red and blue. He hit it hard enough to be heard over the gunfire and did not move again. Alice turned to her next target, and Griefer saw that her eyes were cold and black. Shark was with her.

Fortune loves rough wooing, he thought, and cast the spell. Lightning burst and arced around them, striking the security team, the vehicle, and Alice. Drain made his head swim, but he forced himself up. Four members of the response team were down--thankfully, including the sorcerer--but the others were certainly active.

Alice turned to him with no recognition in her dead black eyes--had he marked himself as an enemy by including her in the spell's area? Even as she moved towards him with death in her face, behind him he heard the voice of one of the on-site security guards yell, "Geek the mage!" I'm going to die because of that fragging cliche, he thought wearily. He turned around and did his best terrified sarariman impression, hands in the air.

"It's me!" he yelled. "Don't shoot!" It was a good bluff. It bought him a solid half-second before they shot him.


	7. Leaving the Run

The first bullet hit him in the forearm--weird place to get tagged, he thought--and the second in the calf. He had time to lament the poor marksmanship training of the common or garden variety security guard before the next punched through his vest. He dropped, still clutching the case.

The featureless visor of one of the response team was standing over him. "Frag you," the person wearing it said, and raised his gun to finish him. Then he was gone. Griefer couldn't stand, but turning his head he saw the man hit the door of the lab as if he'd been thrown by a giant. Alice Other was there, perfectly still, for a moment, then turned and vanished. He tried to work out how fast she must have been moving, to impact the guard like that. F = ma, he thought, and she weighs 60 kg, so it must have been.... But the numbers wouldn't work for him, dancing away and back again, in tidy rings all around him. He was going to pass out soon, he knew, but he had to stay awake as long as he could.

"Crow's down," yelled Red Rose, and moved almost as fast as Alice had. She had him in her arms and up onto her shoulder before security could react, but as she ran she felt a bullet pierce her armor. She didn't slow down. She was moving along the designated path of exit when the Peach cut in over everyone's link. Audio, so she was serious. "Everybody flat!"

And everybody who could hear her went prone, just as the BRRRAAP of her drone's machine gun began. The response team was prone with the first shots; on-site was not so lucky. The gel rounds might not kill anybody but they could put them down hard. Under the Peach's suppressing fire Alice and Red Rose (Griefer slung over her shoulder) made it around the corner to the waiting pickup. The Peach was in the driver's seat, her eyes with the faraway look that told you she was jumped in.

Red Rose threw Griefer in the back and turned to see one of the response team aiming his assault rifle at them. There was a wicked flash from the under-barrel grenade launcher as it fired. Then the grenade blew up a meter from his helmet. Buttons, from her vantage, smiled. She brought her attention back to Meimei's sights.

There was an explosion, and the Peach shook her head like she'd been punched, then focused on the runners. Drone down, she sent. We out. Grouse?

Rt behind u, replied Buttons. Then sent: Ive lost ears. Channels compro.

The Peach flipped a switch and wireless was off throughout the truck. She looked back. Red Rose had a medkit and was working on Griefer, who had finally let the mask spell drop. He looked bad. She could see the heat from his lost blood rising from the cab floor. Even now he still gripped the handle of the metal case. Alice Other had her eyes shut and her nose pinched closed with one hand. She was reciting something under her breath. Behind them another member of the response team ran into the street to take a shot at the truck and found that his arm wouldn't work. Looking at it he saw blood running from his shoulder. He dropped the rifle and went into shock.

"Yay! My Jiejie is the best!" Meimei's icon did an adorable little dance. Buttons rose from her prone firing position, threw the celebrating rifle onto her back, and withdrew.

As Red Rose worked on Griefer, the Peach drove through the city, too fast. She was tapped into the 'Guide, listening for tails. Not hearing any, she slowed to a speed that wouldn't get her pulled over and made several tight turns. When no vehicles followed she set her new course. From a side street Buttons' big Scorpion dropped into position behind them, and the helmeted rider give them the hand signal for no pursuit.

A flashing icon in her vision alerted the Peach to potential trouble. "Tags in the bullets," she said. "Yours and his. The package, too. There's an eraser in the compartment behind me." Red Rose grabbed it and held it over Griefer's wound for a long count of ten, then her own, then waved it over the metal attache. "Clean," confirmed the Peach.

Red Rose looked up from her work. "Hot Dog Stand?" she asked. Then, almost as an afterthought, she peeled out of her armor and began to patch her own gunshot wound.

"Hot Dog Stand," said the Peach. Runners don't cry, she told herself. "You going to be okay?"

"Oh yeah," grinned Red Rose. "We're not all squishy keebs." She held the patch hard against her side to help it seal. The bullet could come out later, at the Stand.

"He'll be fine," said Alice Other to the Peach. She had pressed herself against the door of the truck, as far from the others and their blood as she could get. "I can tell."

"Let's get to the Stand and get him stable," said Red Rose. "I'm on astral watch. You good, Peach?" The Peach said nothing; just drove faster.


	8. The Lessons Learned

The next night, in a filthy room at the Hot Dog Stand: "That was suboptimal."

Red Rose snorted. "No drek."

"What happened?" quietly asked Alice Other. She hated it here. It smelled of blood, feces, antiseptic (to deal with the first two), and slow death. She could feel the memories of those who had died here. Both she and Red Rose were being careful to keep themselves as closed off to the astral as possible, but it seeped through. How does Griefer stand it? she wondered.

The Peach, presently jumped into a 30 cm. tall MyDoru, spoke up. "Did we lose OpSec?" The doll had settled herself next to Griefer's head on his pillow, sitting in perfect seiza, hands palm down on the skirt of her diminutive sera fuku.

"Not on my end," said Buttons. She had brought color-changing synth flowers, and was arranging them in a Blastr Beer bottle she had found on the floor. "Matrix was clean. Their wireless security was drek." She set the bottle on the small table next to the bed.

"That spider was pretty good," said the Peach.

"Astral was clean," said Red Rose. "Alice, can you confirm?" Alice nodded. "On-site we could have dealt with, but the Guangwu response team was good. If Griefer hadn't geeked the mage--"

"I am weary of that phrase," said Griefer. He struggled into an upright position. "No," he said, bringing the conversation back around to the origin topic. "It is of course possible, but I don't believe that OpSec was compromised on our end." There was a pause while they considered this.

"Now what?" asked Buttons.

"We make the meet," said Griefer. When Red Rose and Buttons both began arguing he held up a hand. "We are down an expensive drone, much ammunition, the price of treatment here in this--delightful establishment." He considered his surroundings, shuddered. "We have made a new enemy, which is an expense all its own. We have the package, so we go get the rest of our money. Peach, do you have anything ready to go to replace--?"

"Miss Kobayashi was her name," said the Peach, answering his question. Buttons snorted. "Whatever, JIEJIE. No, I haven't got anything that could stand in for her. A new roto-drone will take a while." The doll gracefully stood up and then kicked a large roach off the pillow. It hit the ground with a clack and ran off.

"We're not going to meet with a Johnson that set us up to fail," said Red Rose. "Frag that guy. Let Buttons put one in his leg as a memento."

"Yes," said Buttons.

"I don't think he did," said Alice. "Set us up. To fail."

"What? Of course he did," said Red Rose. Buttons nodded.

"Alice is right," said Griefer. "It wouldn't help Mr. Johnson if we failed the run. But if we succeeded in an obvious and public manner, that would help him quite a bit. He set us up just enough to raise the volume on what should have been a milk run. Our recent fracas made the news right alongside Guangwu's new ad campaign. Green Lion must be quite pleased. We should also have a talk with one Mr. Kirin Laga, but I doubt he had foreknowledge."

"Bastards," said Buttons. "No honor. Trading lives for market share and some package."

"Speaking of." He motioned, and Red Rose handed him the attache case. Buttons had spent some hours disabling then rewriting the installed security, and now it was as compliant as a spaniel. He held his finger against the scanner and it opened. Inside were a dozen sealed jars filled with creamy golden liquid, each nestled in protective foam. He took one out and closed the case.

"A retainer for our efforts," he said, holding it up. Red Rose and Alice both went momentarily distant as they assensed the jar and its contents, then came back, unwilling to be more aware of the Hot Dog Stand's astral background than necessary.

"What IS that?" asked Red Rose. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Honey," said Griefer. "Buttons, will you please take this case outside and shoot it?"


	9. The Exchange is Arranged

When Daniel's burner link chimed to let him know that the runners were back in contact he was extricating himself from a meeting that had gone on far too long. Pleased for the excuse, he sent his apologies to his team leader and slipped out. He had been expecting the message since the news of the hit on Guangwu had emerged. Noisy work, for a team with a good rep. He had gone over their prior runs before the meet, and couldn't remember one getting out of hand like this latest.

We have the package, read the message. There followed a time and place for the meet, but nothing else. Daniel considered. Terse was not how he would have described Griefer. The change in communication might mean that someone else had sent the message. Or that something strange was going on. Trust your gut, Amash always said. He messaged Marta.

Can you have a team present here? He sent her the runners message. Not planning a strike just an abundance of caution.

Check, she replied. Ill take point.

You sure? he almost asked, then squashed the impulse. Marta never did anything without being sure. Thanks, he sent instead.

He wanted to ask if Miss Buttons would be there. He wanted to ask if he could speak with her directly--not with any agenda, simply to talk to her. But he knew that runners tended toward the paranoid, especially around the end of a job. He would just have to see how it went. In the mean time--

Can you get together some intel on the 2 from Talins?

Already got it. Are you free in 60?

"We've been over the previous runs that can be attributed to this team," she said. "I won't bother to review them unless--?" Daniel shook his head. "Very well. I will just note that this latest was unusually obvious for them. As far as the team goes, Mr. Laga plays his cards close to his chest. All we got from him was that they specialize in overcoming magical security and have at least four members. He also dropped some dark hints about one of them being Infected. To speak to the individuals:

"Here's what we know about 'Griefer'," she said, speaking the street name with scorn. "He's an elf--yes, that's obvious, I know. Speech patterns and body language indicate upper-class from Tir Tairngire. Under this name," she brought up a student ID, "he attends the University as an undergrad. Sporadically attends, anyway. Bank records show regular deposits from a Tir account, so the assumption is that mommy and daddy are still watching out for him. Shadowrunning for the thrill and some spending cash. Spoiled rich kid thinks his allowance isn't big enough.

"At least one on the team is fully Awakened. The obvious answer after last week's intelligence gathering is her," an image of Miss Buttons, the wine glass raised against her lips. Daniel sat up straighter. "'Miss Buttons' was not assensed as magically active, but her behavior is congruent with HMHVV I infection. A vampire. She's obviously physically powerful as well. The other information we have on her is conflicting. No bank records. No SIN, of course. Accent is Icelandic, but accents can be faked.

"No one matching her description is in the public or corporate databases. Unsurprising, since if she is Infected she has good reason to hide.

"There's at least two other members of the team. One is certainly a Matrix operative, and the other likely a drone jockey. Both skilled, or they never would have made it out of Riverside. I've updated such biometrics as we could obtain--your Miss Buttons is an impressive 203 cm.--in our database. That's all we have, Mr. Abrams." She looked at Daniel. "This is much more attention and effort than we usually put into disposable assets. Are you considering bring one or more of them in? If so, please mark down my vigorous opposition. An Infected asset simply cannot be trusted, whatever the leverage." Her grey eyes were steady.

"Not at all, Ms. Heck," said Daniel. "But I was thinking that they might be useful independent agents in the future, and wanted to know our assessment of their capacity." She searched his face, then nodded.

"Mr. Dirg was less concerned about cultivating such assets as long term resources. A change in approach might pay off. In any case, my team and I are ready when you are. I'll be sure that anti-Infected measures are ready should things get hot."


	10. The Exchange

Daniel did not like the site Griefer had chosen. It was in a part of town he rarely thought of and never visited, as the song had it. Rubedo's Bar was dark and, unlike Talin's, where the darkness had a welcoming, conspiratorial quality, the darkness here felt dangerous. Things were waiting in it, some metahuman and some not.

The outside of the bar had been tagged both in real life and AR: Krashas colors jostled with the scrawled incomprehensible names and insignia of individual members; Pack and Ancients placed over each other, blurring into angry static where they touched; a small green mantis with long eyelashes blowing a kiss; and over all of it spun the dark sun of Kaliacc. This was a liminal place of uncertain ownership and therefore a battlefield.

That Marta was by his side was some consolation. She might be able to blend in at Talin's; here, she stuck out like a sore thumb, which was part of the point. She was wearing a scar not her own and her white hair was drawn under a armor-weave hood, but nothing could erase her gravitas. He also appreciated the message of the heavy pistol holstered at her side. Magic was all well and good, but nobody knew you had it until you showed them. The pistol, however, unmistakably said, "Do not frag with me."

The rest of the team was placed tactically around the site. Two at the car, one at the wheel who would also run Matrix security. One more on each side. Only Marta was magically active, sadly, but the CTO was usually enough by herself.

It was more eyes on the meet than he wanted: even if he was working as an official Johnson, these things needed to be kept quiet. People talked. They talked for all sorts of reasons or none at all. The door slid open before him and let out a puff of visibly smoky, stale air. Soybacco, cannabis, acrid chemicals. Doubtless one could analyze them, work out exactly what elaborate esters the metahumans inside were using to fry their brain cells. To Daniel it just smelled like burning.

Inside he worked his way through a sparse crowd of metahumanity to Griefer's table. The elf had his arm in an inflatable cast and looked paler than when Daniel had last seen him. His face was cut and bruised. Altogether he looked brittle and edgy. Next to him was--was Miss Buttons. Here was the tightly braided hair, the military bearing. She seemed subtly different. Mask spells, he reminded himself. They're fragging with you. Why? She had no obvious injuries, but then, if he was right, regeneration would take care of any such.

"Mr. Johnson," said Griefer, inclining his head.

"Griefer," said Daniel, and sat down across from him without waiting for an invitation. Marta took up a position behind and to his right, clearing her field of fire. Griefer took this in without apparent concern.

"Who's your friend?" he asked.

"She's a colleague versed in certain spheres," said Daniel. And frag you too, he thought. "Do you have the package?"

In answer Griefer pulled a large metal case out from under the table. There was a large bullet hole in one of the lower corners. "I have most of the package," he said. "One didn't make it thanks to the regrettable escalation we experienced." He ran his finger over the bullet hole, then opened the case to show Daniel eleven golden jars. He looked at Marta, who nodded.

"I see." Not that it matters too much, thought Daniel. But now I can keep a bit of cred. He kept looking at Miss Buttons, who coolly met his gaze with the same blue eyes her remembered from Talin's. "That will of course affect your payment."

"No, Mr. Johnson. It will not. Because, Mr. Johnson, I hold you responsible for that escalation." Griefer said this without obvious anger, but as he said it Miss Buttons slowly stood up to her full height. Her hands were clear of her sides, where hung a heavy pistol, the mirror of Marta's, and a sword that Daniel noted irrelevantly was a saber with a heavy guard. "Miss--I am going to call you Miss Trust, since Mr. Johnson declines to introduce us--Miss Trust, if you continue along that path we will see a regrettable escalation right here." Daniel felt Marta relax slightly behind him. He kept his eyes on Miss Buttons.

"We were met by a rapid response team that was there well before it should have been possible. In fact, we have learned that they were dispatched BEFORE any alert at the site. So Mr. Johnson, let me ask you directly: why did you set us up?"


	11. Daniel Leaves the Exchange

"I see," said Daniel.

Events were moving too fast right now. Marta's team was seconds away from an order that would begin a cascade he could not contain. Stand down, he sent. Marta stand them down. A long second before her order went out, a long second when he thought that she would not obey the command. I am losing control of this, he thought.

"I can tell you honestly that I had nothing to do with it," he said. Neither metahuman said anything. "I would greatly prefer to discuss this peaceably."

Griefer pressed the bridge of his nose with his good hand. Daniel got ready to dive under the table. Marta was gathering power.

"Fine," said the elf. It was a long moment while everyone realized what he meant. "Fine." Tension dropped.

"Mr. Johnson," said Griefer, "I would greatly prefer to be paid, in full and immediately. I am foolishly trusting and will, for now, take you at your word that you were not involved. But if that is the case, my friendly suggestion would be that you CLEAN YOUR HOUSE. Miss Trust, do you really want to throw down? I am not a fool with no eyes on the astral."

"You talk too much," said Marta.

"'Jaw-jaw is better than war-war'," said Griefer. "Thank you." This last to Daniel, who had made the transfer from escrow to the accounts they had agreed on at Talin's. "You can leave first. Mr. Johnson, Miss Trust."

Daniel picked up the case. He walked out of the bar, Marta behind him. When they got to the car Marta opened the door for him, then got in the other side. They drove off, the other team pulling out behind them.

"What the hell was that?" asked Daniel. "First he accuses us of setting him up, then, the next fragging sentence, he says he believes me, and we make the exchange as if nothing happened? I thought he was about to open up on us, the team was seconds away from kicking down the door and putting two between his eyes, and then--nothing." Being so near to conflict had his adrenaline up, and he wanted to punch something, fight someone. He felt almost cheated.

Marta grimaced at his language. She hated profanity at any time. "I don't know," she said. "I still read him as weakly Awakened, but her--I don't know. She's got to have the best aura masking I've ever encountered. Little princeling thinks he's so charming with his 'Miss Trust'." This last clearly directed at Griefer, who must have gotten under her skin. "My advice, on the record, Mr. Abrams, is to cut ties with them. If we can't understand them we can't control them, and tools you can't control are worse than useless."

"I'll think about it," said Daniel. But what he was thinking about was Miss Buttons and her cool blue stare. "None of this makes sense. Who else was there?"

"At least two others," said Marta. "One at the bar--the dark-haired human with the knife at her hip. Adept. She was ready to gut you." Daniel had not noticed her. "And someone at the fire exit." She frowned. "I didn't have a chance to assense in depth. If 'Griefer'," she put the name in audible inverted commas, as though using tongs to hold something unclean, "had not distracted me, I might have gotten a better look."

"Someone set them up," said Daniel. "I want to know who, Ms. Heck. This affects us as well, if there's a leak." He knew he had looked weak, not just in front of the runners but in front of his team. And Marta. Someone was going to pay.

They drove the rest of the way in silence.


	12. After the Exchange I

"Yooo!" said Red Rose once they were safely away. "We got paid! What's everyone going to spend their money on? Buttons, you going to get that bike yerzed out?" She was bouncing in her seat, barely able to contain herself.

"Frag yes," said Buttons. "Also Meimei gets a new skin." She had already picked it out. An avenging angel, with bright red wings and a golden sword.

"Well," said Griefer, "that has at least muddied the waters. And if anything rises to the surface, we can meet it there."

"What are you going to spend your 'yen on, G?"

"Books," said Griefer as though there was no other possible answer.

"Need to chip in for Miss Kobayashi," said Buttons. Everyone else paused to remember who that was.

"Right," said Red Rose.

"Thanks," said the Peach, shyly, through the truck's speaker system. She was jumped in from the safe house.

"Alice, we're going dancing, right?" asked Red Rose.

"Yes," said Alice. "Will you help me with clothes again, please?"

"Yeah I will! Peach, Buttons, you wanna come? Girls' night! Girls' NIGHT!"

"Pass," said Buttons.

"Me too," said the Peach. "I've got too much work and I need to be up early."

"The Peach has a REAL JOB," teased Red Rose. "Not like us BANDITAS! Us shadowrunners!"

"I don't get an invitation?" asked Griefer. Red Rose's resulting giggles were so genuine that he couldn't even be offended. While she caught her breath he turned to Alice Other. "We need to talk about this," he said. "Miss Trust--Marta Heck--almost made you back there. And--" he left the sentence to hang there, unfinished.

"Can it wait?" asked Alice. Griefer nodded.

"But not forever."


	13. After the Exchange II

"Daniel!" said Amash, "Come on! You'll want to see this." He sent a file to Daniel, who opened it.

"Is this?"

"Yes! Thirty seconds of footage from the Guangwu run, straight from the site. Very nice, very nice! Notice that your Mr. Griefer, whatever Marta may say, pretty clearly drops a _massive_ lightning spell on his foes. Dangerous man, Mr. Griefer. I like him."

"How did you get this?"

"Season tickets."

"What?"

"Did I stutter? Season tickets. To the FX-3 games. Tell me, Daniel, how much do seasons tickets to the FX-3 games cost?"

Two seconds and one net query later: "Two thousand, depending on seats. That seems--inexpensive, for this sort of access."

"Ha! Daniel, I will tell you a secret. It's not about the nuyen."

"You said it's always about the nuyen."

"Well, yes, it is, but sometimes it's not. You think my contact would have handed this data over for two thousand? They would have told me to go to hell, and felt the glow of self-righteous _amour propre_ doing it. But season tickets! That says, 'I know you. I know what you like.' Everyone wants to be known, Daniel, but it scares them, too."

"I... don't follow."

"Everyone wants to be the trid hero, ne? We want people to look at us and say, 'Gee! I'd like to be _him_ someday.' Ah, but Daniel! Alongside the pleasure of being known is always the fear. Does he know me _too_ well? What else does he know, that I would rather not have spilled out for the world to see. The best bribes are also threats, Daniel. Dong ma?"

"I think so."

"Does Marta have this?"

"She does not. Not good to keep secrets from your CTO, Daniel, but sometimes one wants a little extra edge. What else did you need?"

"You set them up. Why?"

"No no no! No. Daniel, the question is not, 'Why did _I_ set them up?' The question is, 'Why didn't _you_?'"

"What?"

"'What?' Listen to you. Daniel, what was our main objective?"

"To stop Guangwu's entry into the magical security sector."

"Correct! And for that purpose, would a quiet, discreet run serve? One that might get out to a few specialists, a few in the know, but otherwise would stay hidden, obscure, _deniable_?"

"It might have."

"No, Daniel, no. It would not. We needed something to splash on the local news feeds, something that would jostle side by side against Guangwu's now deliciously ironic ad campaign. You _knew_ this. I expected you to make the arrangements, and, when I found to my disappointment that you had not, I did so myself. I had hoped to leave the division in better hands than this, Daniel. Or did your little hobby cloud your judgment?"

"It did not. I simply had a different risk/reward assessment than you did."

"And mine was right and yours was wrong. Well. Lesson learned, I should say. You did finally recognize _who_ was responsible, and I trust after our little discussion you understand _why_. How did they take it, by the way?"

"Poorly. Marta nearly manaballed the lot of them. But-"

"But?"

"Bridges have not been completely burned. I was able to convince them that I had nothing to do with it. And they took payment."

"Ah! You see, Daniel, the power of _deniability_. Especially if, as is perfectly possible, one of your delightful friends had a detect truth spell sustained."

"You're a bastard." Said without heat.

"Yes. I am the bastard you aspire to be. Good luck, Daniel, I think you have it in you. I will watch your future career with interest. I'm transferring to Munich at the end of the month. But, Daniel--keep in touch? The world is a very small place these days. I may not be able to meet you at Talin's, but there's no reason we can't share the occasional beer." And now Amash gave him a full and knowing wink.


	14. Afterthoughts 1: Red Rose

Red Rose looked sharp, if she did say so herself, and so she did, addressing herself to her reflection in the dance club's mirrored wall: "You look sharp!" Everyone around her must have agreed: they were all nodding their heads violently. In time to the heavy bass beat, but still.

She was dressed to the nines. She was a regular Beau mother-fragging Brummel. She was "Neato-o Dorito," she shouted, and giggled. Boots, collar, spikes, and her lipstick shone rainbow in the flashing lights. Fake flowers in her hair. Dancing like the cams were off. Absolutely the bees' knees, if she did say so herself. Which she had to, since Alice never said anything.

Alice looked good too, in her pale way. All black, elbow gloves and tall boots, silently watching the crowd. Way to play to type, you arctic fox. Red Rose might have hit that, if she hadn't known about Alice's condition. But still, the image of Alice gutting a man with her bare hands, brightly caught in the spot light from the response team, with smoke rising all around her: that was going in the spank bank. The rub club. Rosie Palm's Good-Time Imaginarium and The-AY-ter.

Alice broke silence long enough to say, "Dorito?" She gave the word a quasi-Japanese inflection that made it sound like something fancy. Red Rose laughed with sheer joy.

"Dorito!" she yelled. "Tinkerty-tonk!" No one else heard her over the rumbling, throbbing bass. She jumped, turned in midair, shook her hoop. After a run she always had energy to burn, and she was out to burn it. Red Rose had her eye on a charming little thing that had hips like a goddess and bright green eyes. They had been playing eye catch all night and she was just about ready to make her move. Somebody was in for a good time. Probably several, from the rising colors of her aura. Alice tapped her shoulder.

"I'm heading out," she said. "I should be about to go unconscious. From what she put in my drink."

"Have fun!" yelled Red Rose, and watched her teammate wobble off the dance floor, for all the world like someone who'd had a few too many and then a few too many more. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"


	15. Afterthoughts 2: Alice Other

Alice waved over her shoulder at Red Rose as she staggered away. 'Things Red Rose wouldn't do' was a short list and her plans for tonight were not on it. Indeed Red Rose, were she in Alice's position, would not have been half so choosy about her targets. Alice could only bring herself to pick her victims from whose auras spoke of guilt and madness. Like that of the woman before her, who wore an expression of concern on her face as she handed Alice a bottle of water and asked if she was feeling all right. She had done this before. Some of her victims had woken up and some had not. Her aura roiled with bloodlust and glee and anticipation.

And how does mine appear? asked Alice inwardly, as her target pushed her resistless body outside the club, where the music abruptly dropped in volume, and into a battered Jackrabbit. They drove until they were just outside the city. They parked. Through half-closed eyes she saw the woman turn to face her, a knife in her hand.

And now it's my turn, she thought as the knife came down. She stopped it almost reluctantly; took it away, breaking the woman's wrist as she did.

Later Alice washed herself off in the sea. She had a few hours before daylight, and she liked to come down to the shore. She had loved to swim, before, and even now, when she sank like a stone if she stopped moving, she was skilled enough to make her way out, arms and legs churning, though never too far. The blood washed off her body. Shark liked that, thought of it as an offering. Perhaps it was.

She had left the woman alive, barely. She had begged for Alice to finish. One had to eat, and if what one had to eat were metahuman it only made sense to choose the worst of them. If she hadn't been what she was someone else's blood would be drifting in the current.

Did it have to taste so good?

Shark was near. If she had put out a hand she might have touched rough skin, found the perfect predator alongside her in the water. She did not reach out. If she wanted she could stop. The sea would take her, and she would sleep. Instead she turned and swam for the shore. They had to keep swimming, said Shark.


	16. Afterthoughts 3: Buttons

Buttons loved the Peach's place. It was over her garage and shop--already too amazing for words--and the Peach had turned it into a tinkerer's dream. It was full of tools and had several tables at various heights. One wall was just shelves with the Peach's quirky custom drones, including a lineup of MyDoru dressed like classic mahou shoujo. As she and Buttons were the only ones mechanically inclined, they often found themselves here after a run. The Peach supplied drinks and snacks, Buttons picked the music, and they worked in companionable silence on their various projects.

Meimei was stripped down to bare metal in front of Buttons. Her icon was naked, awkwardly covering her loins and breasts with her hands and looking embarrassed. Buttons gave her a virtual wink before she began applying lubricant. Meimei yelped, though of course only Buttons heard it. Whoever had programmed this persona had had excellent taste. Oh wait that would be me, she self-congratulated.

The Peach was sitting at a low work table with the new drone she had ordered in front of her. Who she knew that could get their hands on that sort of equipment, no one knew, but a few calls and here was Miss Kobayashi 2.0, slowly receiving the Peach's special care. A drum of AP rounds snapped into place. It was a good noise. Buttons smiled and took a slip of her drink. Meimei, now thoroughly oiled, gave a little gasp as Buttons found a rough spot and gave it a quick back-and-forth with the metal brush. Good girl, she sent to the blushing gun.

On the net her wolf loped along, automatically hunting for anything that might indicate someone after her team. She scanned the few files it had grabbed, dismissed them as standard corp hoop-covering. No sign of vengeful suits. Everything aces. Sometime in the next couple days she would go in deeper and see what data on the run she could shred.

She began reassembling Meimei, who made inarticulate little noises as Buttons slid the barrel shroud back on. After Meimei was finished she was going crash on the Peach's big comfy couch. Tomorrow she could go downstairs and yerz the drek out of her bike. She would need to be able to swap the ornamentation out right quick when she needed to be discreet. But that was part of the fun. She touched the point of a tusk, rubbed her nose. To her heightened sense of smell the room was an intoxicating mix of ozone, heated metals, synthetics, and high explosives. She loved it all.


	17. Afterthoughts 4: The Peach

The Peach was in love. With her new drone, now named Enma. She was next edition, a half-step up from the late lamented Miss Kobayashi: nothing radically different, just a little slicker, a little sharper. She sighed contentedly as the second ammo drum for Enma's machine gun clicked into place. Gel, AP, and next came shock. It was nice to have options. Could she fit a grenade launcher? Only one way to find out.

She glanced at Buttons, who was working on her rifle, her saber on the table next to her tools. Even while the ork was bopping her head to the beat of the music her posture was perfect. She had a taste for moricalli, bilingual v-rap set to intricate kukra beats, then remixed until it was unrecognizable noise. The MyDoru that had been left on auto had self-organized a cute little synchronized dance, so it wasn't all bad. The Peach put up with it. She tried to be a good hostess.

Now Buttons was running a shammy cloth over the weapon. The Peach heard Meimei give a frankly erotic moan as she did so. Her cheeks went hot. She hadn't told Buttons that she had access to Meimei's private icon. It was a little intrusive, she knew, but if she didn't do these things then people left her out of the loop. They kept secrets.

Griefer didn't. She liked that about him. He didn't treat her like a child because of her size. Oh! Enma had a full five degrees more firing arc than Miss Kobayashi had had. On all three axes, very nice indeed. She made an adjustment to her custom targeting program to take full advantage.

She hoped Alice was all right. Red Rose would be fine as long as she got laid. Alice had other needs, though; the Peach knew that, while she tried to satisfy them with as little lasting damage as possible, sometimes things went wrong. She gave the micro-weld a quick check with the tip of her finger. Beautiful. Sometimes it seemed like they spent as much time protecting Alice as they did finishing the run. Where also sometimes things went wrong. Red Rose and Griefer, bleeding in the back of her truck.

But that was how it was with family, ne? You took care of each other. Family weren't an obstacle to be overcome; they were the objective itself. Everything you did you did for family. So that you could all be together. Alice pulled her weight.

She jumped into the half-finished drone to run diagnostics. Even at this stage she could tell that Enma was going to be a joy to ride: responsive, quick, deadly. The grenade launcher fit perfectly.

The Peach could pull her weight, too.


	18. Afterthoughts5: Griefer

Griefer was hitting the heavy bag. His limbs were almost back to full strength. Every punch reminded him of the mistakes he'd made on the run. He'd had no time to scrub their astral signatures. Was Guangwu gunning for them? He had constantly expected a hit squad. He hadn't slept well. Maybe the lightning he'd dropped had confused the astral enough. Fried any material links he'd left. Jab, jab, cross, hook. Slip the counter, a twinge from the rear calf. Maybe they'd kept the kill count low enough that it wasn't 'cost effective' to come after them. Money: his was already in a Tir account, to be dispersed in regular intervals as if he still had parents back home to dote on him. That persona was rapidly becoming a liability. Too obvious.

Green Lion had set them up. But not Mr. Johnson himself, which was interesting. Cross, hook, cross, duck. Keep your head moving. Qui bono? Should have been obvious. The louder the better. Right hook, uppercut, hook. He should have realized the incentives at play. His loss. A nifty new scar as a memento. Memento mori.

Did Green Lion know about Alice? They clearly suspected someone on the team. Had he thrown enough smoke their way? He was hitting the bag all out now, no technique. He kept at it as long as he could then collapsed. Red Rose, Alice, Buttons: he would never be as dangerous as they were. But he could be better than he was; maybe better than the next guy.

He had put Buttons at risk to protect Alice. Was that fair? Bracket the question. This wasn't just Green Lion. Someone was using them, to get to Alice. He needed to find out who. What were his leads?

Guangwu was too dangerous to approach directly. Green Lion the same. That CTO. She was better than he was. What next? Kirin? From his sprawl on the floor he considered, sweat dripping onto bare, cold concrete.

He went to the closet and opened the wall safe that stood in a corner. Inside were his few reagents, ammo and magazines, a bag of worthless coins, and a small jar of warm golden liquid. He took out the jar and set it on the floor in front of him, settled himself on his knees, and assensed. He gave himself time to do a thorough job, blocking out other concerns. The Hot Dog Stand's background count had made this sort of in-depth look almost impossible, but here he was acclimated. When he had finished he opened his eyes to the mundane.

"Goodness," he said. "That is... not honey. Fascinating." Time to get the team back together. No, he thought, looking down at the puddle of sweat on his floor, now it was time for a bath. If he were very lucky he might be able to find Fuuka-san.


	19. Afterthoughts 6: Kirin

"Oi, omae, you know about Guangwu?" asked Kirin Laga. "Sounds like they got hit hard."

Nothin Else inclined his head. He knew about Guangwu. They were on the list.

"That item you were interested in, that went out the door."

Now Nothin Else leaned forward. and Kirin leaned back unconsciously. Whether intended or not, the troll could loom. "Perhaps you could elucidate," he said.

"What's to tell? Big noise, lotsa magic. Word is Green Lion bought the hit." Kirin looked around as he said this. No one at Rubedo's would look twice at a troll, even one dressed like he'd just walked off the set of Legendary Tiger-Killing Heroes, chatting with some rando dwarf in go-gear. But old habits die hard. He squeezed the jammer he held under the table.

"I don't know them."

"Rival security corp, specialize in Awakened threats. Like Guangwu, ne? So when Guangwu decided to move into our little jungle, they found another tiger already there."

"Is it related to my interests?" asked Nothin Else.

"Who can say, right? Who can say! Maybe just a coincidence that as you were setting up for your own run Green Lion jogged your elbow." Beat the grass, pheasants rise, thought Kirin.

"Hmmm." There was silence for a long moment while the troll pondered 'coincidence'.

"You need another drink? What's your pleasure?" Not that the big troll ever drank anything stronger than kaf.

"No, thank you, Mr. Laga. I should be going. What do I owe you?"

"I like that about you! Straight to the point. Don't worry about it. A little favor from me to you."

"I see. You must at least let me settle up." The transaction was finished before Kirin could demur. "Have a good day." The troll stood up. It was like watching a building stand.

Outside, Nothin Else touched his comm and sent a message to his team. They needed to discuss this information. New pieces on the board. Kirin Laga, inside, sent a message also. In fact he sent two.


	20. Part II: Elsewhere

They met in an abandoned apartment building, which never failed to please Deadbug. It had the proper ambiance. It fit with their idiom. Nothin Else was there first, and was drinking what he called 'tea' from a heated mug that must have held four liters and reeked of spices. His iron staff was leaning against his chest. Grenadier was late, per usual. Trouble--

Trouble was in the corner, arms crossed, back to the wall, also per usual. He slung his pack against the opposite corner, shot her a smile. Got a nod back. Not exactly even exchange, he thought. Come on, girl, it's been three months and four runs, counting the one we met you on. You can show me some teeth by now. A little common courtesy.

Instead of voicing these thoughts he asked, "Anything active on the astral?"

"No," said Trouble, looking down at her feet. "Here comes." She did not have time to finish the sentence before they all heard the big bike roar up outside. She cleared her throat. "Here he comes." Grenadier came in, took off his cowboy hat and waved it at all and sundry, bumped fists with Deadbug and Nothin Else, held one out to Trouble and then cheerily bumped it himself with his other, chrome fist when she left him hanging. Rude, thought Deadbug.

"Hola, compadres! Hey hey!"

"Hey hey," said Deadbug.

"Hey hey," said Nothin Else, taking control of the meeting. "I have intel." He settled himself cross-legged on the floor and shared the sparse facts Kirin had given him, along with the little he had found on the Net.

Deadbug was pissed. "That's three solid weeks of prep gone. Who are these fraggers?"

"That's job one," said Nothin Else. "Would you like it?"

"Frag yes."

"That is settled then. What we need to know is who is behind this move. Is it as it seems on the surface, or did someone suspect our plans, and act accordingly? In brief, does this come from Green Lion, as it appears, the Roaches, or the Hive? Or some fourth party? Some conspiracy? We need answers to these questions before we can advance."

"What about Kiki?" asked Trouble.

"I will explain the situation to our principle," said Nothin Else. He looked old. Deadbug knew the troll was at least fifty. Not many years left, unless his mojo helped him.

"Better you 'n me," said Grenadier. "She gives me the creeps ALL the way up my hoop." He held out his hand, made a circle between thumb and forefinger, then thrust the other hand through and wiggled his fingers.

"Gross," muttered Trouble. Grenadier grinned at her.

"Krashas are acting up," said Deadbug, before anyone could talk more about their hoop. "Hradtiem might really lose it this round. Another pair of bodies found, same condition the first four. Makes six. That we know about."

"Is it related?" asked Nothin Else.

Deadbug shrugged. "Kiki thought so, last time." And she should know, went unspoken.

Grenadier started to speak, then held up his chrome hand. "Someone outside," he said quietly. He shared the camera link with Deadbug. "More someones," he corrected. "Five all day. Moving like they got a bead on us." Deadbug pulled his heavy pistol. Should have brought the shotty, he thought. Grenadier drew his revolver. In the corner, Trouble retched.

Deadbug looked over. "Roach," she said, between heaves. "My watcher's down." There was something about bugs she just couldn't handle.

"You gonna be able to sling?" asked Deadbug. If the Roach spirits had found them they would need plenty of mojo. She wiped her mouth and nodded. Frag, what he wouldn't give to be part of a decent merc squad. But then, whose fault was it that he was here? Nobody to blame but yourself, sammie.

Nothin Else was on his feet so quickly that even with Deadbug's enhanced reflexes he could hardly follow the movement. "Grenadier?" he said.

"I got the three li'l creepies keeping watch and Esmeralda," said Grenadier. "Wasn't expecting much. Two of the creepies can go bang, though. Even out the odds a little."

"Make it so," said Nothin Else. "Everybody, form up. Trouble in the middle, I've got the door, make it twelve, Deadbug, you've got three; G, nine. Trouble, watch six. High and low, too: remember Tacoma?" They remembered Tacoma. "G, on your mark."

Grenadier went distant for a long second, then his eyes refocused just as they heard two explosions outside. "Contact," he said. "One chunky marinara, one down maybe but you know these hombres."

"Four to go," said Nothin Else, as two humanoid figures burst through the door. They were moving faster than any metahuman ought to be able to, and their silhouettes in the door frame were strangely contorted. Trouble muffled a scream. Nothin Else moved first.


	21. Elsewhere pt. 2

The iron staff in Nothin Else's hands, two and a half meters long, was a blur as it shot out. It took the first attacker square in the forehead, punching through bone with a horrible crack. Then there was an electric flash and the smell of cooked meat. Nothin Else was bringing his A game tonight, thought Deadbug. The staff then swept horizontally and smashed the ruined body to the troll's right. Deadbug put two in the body just to be sure--with bugs, you could put them down all day and they would just keep coming back for more. To the side he heard Grenadier's big revolver and in his peripheral vision saw the second figure stagger but keep coming. Dumb fragger, he thought. You've got nine. Hold your arc.

Even as he thought that the cheap synthplaster wall broke apart and something out of Gregor Samsa's nightmares came through. It hit Grenadier square in the body with a smack that sounded louder than the gunshots in the room. He crumpled to the floor, his battered hat flying off into a corner. Deadbug and Nothin Else turned to deal with the new threat, their movements blurry with speed. Nothin Else got there first, sliding the staff between Grenadier and the bug and flipping all 200kg of it into the air like it was a pancake. Deadbug's shot passed through thin air where the target had been. He turned back to face the door, noticing as he did that Grenadier's eyes were rolled back. He was out. Bugs hit hard.

As he moved he felt the queer chill that spellcasting always gave him. Trouble had finally opened up. Whatever she did was not readily apparent, but the bug he had squared off with reeled and hissed. He took the opportunity to put three rounds clean into it, then a fourth. It went down on one knee but wouldn't fall, kept coming on after him.

From behind he heard the crackle of Nothin Else's staff hitting flesh and discharging, then a roar of pain from the troll. Hope he's doing better than me, Deadbug thought. Three more rounds into center mass, and the bug finally--finally!--went down. As he moved to acquire a new target a fresh pain bloomed above his coccyx. His armored vest stopped it, but only just. With the wind knocked out of him tried to raise the gun. The next shot took him high in the back. He twisted as he fell, presenting his armored back and protecting his head. Trouble screamed.

When Deadbug got his head up he saw Nothin Else beating on a bug at least as big as the troll himself, which was trying to take his arm off at the elbow. Another bug--more human, somehow grosser for it--was moving on Trouble. The girl's eyes were huge and white. Deadbug's wires made her actions seem too slow to be real. She wasn't going to make it. He didn't have the shot. He wasn't going to be able to save her.

Through the hole in the wall raced something fast, shiny, and loud, moving with a sound like thunder. It was halfway across the room before Deadbug realized it was Esmeralda. He swore he saw confusion in the bug's faceted eyes just before the big bike hit.

An unmodified Scorpion is something of an anachronism. It's heavy, armored, and capable of remarkable velocity. Esmeralda was modded as heavily as the rigger could manage, with a souped-up engine and actual steel armor. She hadn't reached top speed yet, but she wasn't moving slow.

At impact the bug flew into several pieces as the tires tore into it (covering Trouble in horrible fluids) and then the bike slammed into and through the opposite wall. Deadbug heard screeching and twisting metal as it crashed into something less yielding. He looked down to see Grenadier give the thumbs-up. Then the rigger passed out. Trouble was down on one knee but otherwise seemed okay. She was at least still scanning the room. He wasn't going to be the one to tell her what was stuck in her hair.

At the same time Nothin Else managed to shake the bug off his arm. He lost some flesh along with it. The big troll flowed forward, gracefully lifted a leg, and put it all the way through the carapace and out the other side with a stomp that would have shattered plascrete. Amazingly the bug managed to hiss weakly and pull itself up the troll's leg a bit before it died. It was Deadbug's turn to smile. He loved watching the adept kick some hoop. It was (all together now!) like nothing else.

"That's four," Deadbug said. "Anybody got eyes on five? Fragger shot me in the back."

"Gone," said Trouble. She was handling the aftermath better than last time. He bet that she even made it outside before she puked. "Nothing on the astral."

"They came at us fast," said Nothin Else. "How did they find us? Was this also a... 'coincidence'?" He raised his leg high in the air, bug corpse and all, and executed a picture perfect sidekick. The roach spirit's body flew off his leg and into the corner. It landed on Grenadier's hat with a wet crunch.

Trouble opened her mouth, then shut it and ran. Deadbug won his bet but not by much. He stumbled over to his pack and dug out the medkit. When Trouble got back she could play spelldoc. Tomorrow he would find out who was tangling with his team, and then they would see. For now he banked his fire. No reason to waste a good rage.


	22. Peach's Shop

"So there I was, staring down five--FIVE!--mother-fraggin' (beg your pardon, miss--mother-fornicatin') Roach spirits. Just me and my pistol and Esmeralda here. Well I was able to drop three of them before they got to me, thanks be to my time in Amazonia. 'El Pistolero Guapo', they called me. Asked me to be a generalissimo, you know. But I can't be tied down like that. 'A man like a cloud', the commandante said when I left, and she had tears in her eyes when she said it. Only time I've seen a were-jaguar cry. Anyways, thanks to some quick shooting I had evened the odds a bit, and...."

"Excuse me," said Buttons, trying to get past. "My bike."

The human looked over, ready to snarl at her for interrupting his attempt to chat up the Peach. He changed his mind when he found his eyes level with her chest. It was some time before he raised them to meet her own.

"Pardon me, ma'am," he said, touching a non-existent hat brim. He stepped back.

"Thank you," said Buttons, and stepped around him and over to where her bike stood. She was putting the last touches on the stylized demon-face spinners, making them grimace and snarl as she rode. The effect was all mechanical: a series of overlapping bronze plates that worked like an old zoetrope. She spent too much time jacked in, and it was good to do something just for meatspace. She felt herself being watched and turned her head. The man was looking her up and down, but moved his gaze to the bike.

"Well she's a charmer," he said. "Got a name?"

"Buunda," said Buttons, to see if he would twig. He did not. He was doing a decent job keeping his eyes off her tits though. She appreciated the effort.

"I ride a Scorpion myself, name of Esmeralda," said the human. He waved a chrome hand at a pile of metal that might at one time have been a vehicle. The Peach was contemplating its condition and failing to hide her despair. "Ran into some bug spirits and now she needs a good bit of tender and loving. Fortunately Miss Smythe here is the best in the business." He tipped another imaginary hat to the Peach. "Let me tell you how I lost my hat," he began. His gaze drifted downwards.

"Mr. Green?" sang the Peach from across the room. "Can you take a look at this for me please?" She sent Buttons a quick loop of an exasperated kitten. U o me.

Hai, sent Buttons. U want work r booze? She got back an animation of two fancy glasses clinking, smiled, and turned back to her bike. In the background she heard, "So I threw the first one over my shoulder--he being about four hundred kilo or so and all muscles and teeth--using a ninjitsu move that I learned back when I was training with the Red Samurai. The trick is to use their own momentum against them, you see. But left one more, the biggest, meanest fragger (beg pardon, miss) of them all...."


	23. Visiting the Hive

Buttons and Red Rose were walking through a sunlit meadow. Buttons moved smoothly; Red Rose's gait had a slight staccato to it. The ground was carpeted in bright flowers: daisies, dandelions, Pacific bluebells, bright striped tulips. Ahead of them a young man in a simple black suit and wide-brimmed black hat was talking about the benefits of natural pollination. There was absolutely nothing strange about his coronal consonants.

The air was filled with bees the size of ping-pong balls, lazily drifting from flower to flower. They glowed gold against black stripes, and their humming was like the sound of the ocean. Blue sky above, with just the right number of clouds like pure white sheep. It was idyllic.

Buttons paused to examine one of the flowers. She plucked a bright yellow blossom (their guide had said it was fine early in the tour) and tucked it behind her ear. She reached down and patted something into the earth, then hurried to catch up to Red Rose and the guide.

She was on a Matrix tour offered by the Homegrown Sweetness Institute. Which was quietly aligned with if not composed of insect spirits. Buttons had been a little shocked to find that out. It was an open secret, but HSI had put the work in to keep things sub rosa, as Griefer had put it. He was cute that way.

As their guide droned on, Buttons looked around her. In the distance, such as it was, she could see the beehives and farmhouse that were HSI's host. If she focused on them the bees began to take a bit more notice of her. They made wobbly orbits around her icon. She turned her attention back to their guide and they returned to their flowers. Security was subtle but tight. She made sure her press badge was obvious.

The tour guide wound up his speech just as they arrived at a small stand selling the farm's products: real honey, beeswax candles, propolis. Buttons took a look at the prices and decided that shadowrunning was for chumps. Beekeeping was where it was at. How much for a candle the size of her finger? There were herbal concoctions, too. She wondered if there was something she could get for the Peach as a thank-you. She would have to check it out later.

"Do you have any questions?" asked the guide. He had taken off his hat. His face was tanned and his expression open and guileless. Anybody could have eyes like that in the Matrix. "We're always happy to talk to the local press."

"Yes," said Red Rose, who was holding one of the little jars of honey. "What's the effect on the astral of your operation? Like, does it change the background count?"

"Great question," said the guide, by which he meant that it was one for which he had a prepared answer. "The presence and abundance of so much nature, working in harmony with the environment, does raise what's commonly called the, um, background count. But unlike areas that have seen significant environmental trauma, the experience of the astral here at HSI is apparently calming and invigorating. I'm told; I'm not Awakened, myself." He gave a self-deprecating smile.

Buttons held up a small glass cruet. "Can I buy this?" A bee investigated the flower by her ear, sounding like a tiny VTOL, then flew off.

"Of course," said their guide. She dropped the 'yen. Oof, she thought. She would have to divert delivery later; right now it would end up at Shishuvan Academy if she let it.

"Do you sell any other special hive products?" Red Rose asked. "I see honey, but what about royal jelly? Isn't that, like, super nutritious and good for cleansing your aura?" As she asked the question Buttons watched a bee land on Red Rose's neck and gently insert its sting. Gotta get that out as soon as we're done here, she thought.

"I'm afraid not. Royal jelly is simply not produced in sufficient quantities to make it saleable." His face gave no sign that they had tripped a keyword.

"Do you do much wholesale business?" asked Buttons. A bee had stung her as well. She began purging its programmed venom from her deck. Tracking only: good. They weren't aggressive yet.

"We're simply not large enough," said the guide. "We do contract out with a few local restaurants that pride themselves on using high-quality, local ingredients. For example:" he listed a few businesses. Buttons smiled to herself when Talin's came up.

"So, anyway, what about the insect spirits?" asked Red Rose. Buttons kept herself from face-palming but only just. She missed working with the Peach. "Our viewers are interested in your relationship."


	24. Visiting the Hive 2

"I'm sorry," said the guide. His expression was a little less open now. "Can you be a little more specific?" The hum of bees was louder.

"I mean the bee spirits, the--"

"Invae," supplied Buttons.

"Right, those. So you have a bunch of bee spirits here, right? So is it all sunshine outside, but there're, you know, tunnels and caverns deep under the farm where they work dark magic, and the taint of it seeps to the surface, slowly warping all living creatures?" Working with Red Rose was fun but not very comfortable, mused Buttons. The bees were all about them and she resisted the urge to swat at them.

"Our partnership with benevolent spirits is not, um, that is, I think you're making a very common mistake," said the guide. "What people usually think of as 'insect spirits' are things like the abominations in Chicago, or similar, um, creatures. That show up on trids like 'Dr. Brandeis Clarion: Insect Hunter'."

"Or 'Bug City Rangers'," said Red Rose.

"Correct. But--"

"Ooh! 'Vestal Exterminatrix 2090'. That one's excellent. The MC is this gorgeous mantis shaman with GIGANTIC--" Here Red Rose stopped because Buttons had poked her.

"As I was saying. But unlike the majority of insect spirits, which are inimical to metahuman life, bee spirits work with humans. The long history of bees and humans living together to each other's, um, benefit, is reflected in the more, um, spiritual planes. Bee spirits help those around them. This has already been established by numerous studies." The buzzing was really quite loud now.

"So what about the whole 'take over a body' thing?" asked Red Rose.

"Investiture," muttered Buttons.

"That is another difference," said their guide. He was beginning to wave his arms a bit as he spoke. "Bees absolutely cannot invest an unwilling spirit. All the hosts here at the farm are formed from metahumans with incurable conditions. It is in fact a life-saving option. And not one undertaken lightly on either side. The records of each investiture are available for public scrutiny, including recordings made before and after. It's an honor to be chosen. Memories and previous experiences are shared between the two, each becoming something much more than the sum of their parts." The bees were all around them now. Buttons readied her defense. Her persona palmed a smoke grenade. She had worse in her bag of tricks, but recon was not the time for them.

"How do you know?" asked Red Rose, rudely.

"My mother," he said simply. A bee the size of a mouse landed on his shoulder and gently touched his ear with its tarsal pads. He reached up and stroked it. It seemed to whisper to him.

"Oh."

"She had a rare condition. There was not a lot of, um, hope. Until we found the farm. I can personally tell you that the merge does not erase any part of the, um, soul of the metahuman involved."

"I'm sorry," said Red Rose. She looked at a loss for words.

"Are there further questions? Perhaps you should consult your thaumaturgy teacher. Mrs. Rai, I believe, is her name?" He must have gotten the data back from the tracking program on Red Rose. The Academy's faculty listings were public.

"What?" said Buttons.

"Busted," said Red Rose.

"A word of advice," said the guide. "If you are going to pretend to be something you're not, don't use your school grid. You know, if you had just come here as you really are, we would have answered all your questions." He looked sad. "We have, um, nothing to hide. But now... I believe we're done here." Buttons tucked her flower into a secure folder. She wanted a closer look at its code.

They left without incident, if rather shame-faced. Behind them in the tall grass something sprouted with unnatural quickness where Buttons had patted the earth. It was a tiny peach tree.


	25. Visiting the Hive 3

The night held fewer secrets for Alice Other than for most. Darkness meant nothing to her anymore; she could see better in it than most could see in full light. She saw the heat of the small animals around her, the movement of their blood in their veins, their slight movements as they reacted to her almost silent passing. At times like this she could enjoy herself. An enjoyment paid for with a woman's broken body and shredded soul.

The fence around the compound was 6 meters high, topped with razor wire and electrified. Just inside it ran the ward. To her eyes it looked like a wall of luminous force, an aurora borealis shaped into a barrier that rose higher than she could see. At regular points along the fence motion sensors were mounted, and, though there was no sign of them, she knew that tremor sensors were buried on the opposite side of the fence as well, waiting for an unwary footstep.

The patrol drones were elsewhere, for now, but their circuit would soon have them back at her position. It was time. She was running silent: no wireless; and so she would have to take the Peach's work on faith. The Peach was a good girl, thought Alice, knowing that she made the gnome uneasy. Somehow she had managed to hold onto some scraps of innocence even as a shadowrunner. Alice tried not to tug too hard at those remnants.

Out of the small backpack she took a square pad, fifty centimeters on a side. She looked the fence over: she would get one chance at this. Satisfied, she put the pad down a few steps in front of the fence and stepped well back from it. She took two long strides to calibrate, then ran all out, jumped, and hit the pad square in the center. It bounced her high into the air, arcing her just over the razor wire at the top of the fence. She straightened her body and held her arms over her head, for all the world like a gymnast sticking the landing. Which she did, in the tiny space between fence and ward. She began to count.

She took her time there in the dark to make sure that she had landed well, then slowly brought her arms down, making sure not to brush against the shifting colors of the ward. Raising one hand, she brought it as close to the ward as she could without touching it, and began to study it. When she felt that they were well enough acquainted, she slowly--slowly!--moved her hand into the magical barrier. There was no reaction. She continued until her arm was fully in, then began to pass her body through. It took long minutes and she knew that the drones would be around shortly, but there was no hurrying the process.

She was through seconds before her count hit zero. She could hear the whir of the approaching drone. With smooth motions she moved orthogonally to its patrol, deeper into the compound. She was close now to the outbuildings: a concrete block barn, a garage full of equipment in various states of disrepair. Here the motion sensor were on each building's corners. But the Peach had silently done her job, and she moved past them without effect.

She could see the heat from the greenhouses and the warmth of the hives. She slipped through the shadows towards her goal: the small farmhouse at the center. The night was cold, but she didn't mind. Her body matched the temperature. Thermal sensors saw nothing. She was a shadow.

As she approached, she saw a figure standing backlit in the doorway. She froze, faded into the blackness. The figure held something small that roiled the air with heat. Someone who couldn't sleep and needed a cup of kaf? She would need to avoid them. They were Awakened, but oddly.

"Well," said the figure, conversationally. It was a woman's voice. "I've been expecting you." Alice gave no response. "No, wait," the woman corrected. "I wasn't expecting you yet. You'd better come in."


	26. Visiting the Hive 4

There must have been some compulsion in the woman's voice, thought Alice Other as she stepped into the bluish light of the small lantern hanging above the gate. The woman had power, that much was clear from her aura, but it was a strange and alien power that Alice could not identify. The shaman, she thought.

"Thank you," said the woman. She sounded sincere. "It's easy to get frightened at night, when we meet someone we don't know. Speaking of, my name is Samantha. Samantha Altpeter. I own this farm. But you probably knew that, if you came sneaking around? Did your homework?" Alice Other said nothing. Conversation was not her forte. She wished Griefer were here.

"Anyhoo," Mrs. Altpeter continued, "Do come inside. I put the kettle on and made kaf, but I'm guessing that's not the sort of hot drink you like. You aren't planning to try anything silly, are you?"

Alice shook her head. "No."

"Good girl. I hope that didn't sound condescending. I'm getting old and everyone seems like a child to me these days. I didn't mean to offend anybody."

Somehow they had moved into the farmhouse while they spoke. Alice stood awkwardly at the heavy table, which had mismatched mugs and a pot full of very hot kaf set on it. She knew she should signal hatchet team. She did not.

"Sit down, sit down! But do be careful. The table's real wood. It was made by my grandfather. Great-grandfather? One of them." Alice sat. "So what brings you out here? Are you one of those two schoolgirls that gave Harry such a turn? He was very upset. I told him not to worry. I told him you probably weren't really schoolgirls, either, but he didn't believe me. Just shows to go you! Go on, speak up, please." She tapped an ear half hidden in messy grey curls.

"Um," said Alice. "I don't know where to begin."

"Begin at the beginning," said Mrs. Altpeter. "Oh dear." She had absent-mindedly poured a cup of kaf and put it in front of Alice. "I'm terribly sorry."

"It's fine," said Alice. "I like. To hold it." She took the cup and cradled it in her gloved hands to feel the warmth. "Thank you."

"What a nice girl you are. For a vampire. You are a vampire, aren't you? I've never met one before, but you look like what I would imagine one would."

"Yes."

"Well, I must say that vampire or not you are a very polite young lady. But I'm getting us off the subject."

What do I tell her? thought Alice. This is not at all the night I had planned. "I have some friends," she said. "We work together. At odd jobs."

"Shadowrunners, yes, I know the lingo."

"We ended up with something. That came from here. We wanted to know more about it."

Mrs. Altpeter blew on her kaf, then took a long, considering sip. "That's very interesting. I'm going to guess that I know what it is you ended up with and that you don't. I will tell you that I would very much like to get it back. Can I hire you?"

"I'm sorry?"

"I'd like to hire you, to return my item. It's the easiest run that you'll ever have. You already have--what do you call it?--'the package', I'm 'Mrs. Johnson', and all you need to do is bring me what's mine by rights. You don't even need to break the law."

"I can't speak for," began Alice, but was interrupted by a small voice by the stairs.

"Mom?" it said. "Who's that?"


	27. Visiting the Hive 5

The voice belonged to one of the strangest creatures Alice Other had encountered. It was a tiny, perhaps a half meter tall, but perfectly formed humanoid. On its back were a double pair of iridescent wings like an insect's. Her aura--

"You're an insect spirit," said Alice Other.

"This is Sister," said Mrs. Altpeter by way of introduction. "Sister, this is Alice Other, who is visiting us. She doesn't have anything to do with them."

And when exactly did I name myself to you? thought Alice. "Pleased to meet you," she said. The tiny form, floating a few inches off the ground, gave a shy nod.

"Come have some kaf," said Mrs. Altpeter. "Since you're up." Sister floated all the way down the stairs and came to the table, sitting next to Mrs. Altpeter and opposite Alice. After Mrs. Altpeter poured the kaf into the smallest of the mugs Sister lifted it in two hands and took a sip. She was wearing pink-striped pyjamas that might have fit a large doll. Her eyes were half-closed.

"Did you come to kill me?" she asked.

"No," said Alice.

"That's all right, then," said Sister. "Not that we would have let you."

"I should think not," said Mrs. Altpeter. "She's not the lost one. She's the ill one."

"She's a bee spirit. In a pixie. Where did you get her?"

"'Get her'?" said Mrs. Altpeter. "I didn't 'get her' anywhere. She ran away from a very bad situation. Do you know those horrid Yakuza brothels, where they chip all the girls?"

"Bunraku."

"Yes, that. Sister was very popular there. When she reached us there was not much of her left. Her spirit or her body; not even a name. And she's not a 'bee spirit' in the way you mean. Everything that is Sister is still there, just--more."

"Are you?" Alice. "Sister? Or are you a bee. Wearing her?"

"It's like asking a child which parent she is," said the girl. "I'm me. I'm a new creation." She had a charming smile. Her eyes caught the dim light like an animal's.

"Harry told your friends," said Mrs. Altpeter. "But it's not surprising they didn't believe him. We never invest anyone without permission. We're not parasites, you know. We're hard workers and we earn what we keep. And no, I'm not the queen. Just a happy worker!" (Here Alice had a vivid aural memory of a woman singing. She had no leisure to examine it) "But my job's a little different from the rest. We don't have much more time to chat, though. The other one just came through the ward."

Alice was up without thinking, her hands held by her sides like a gunfighter.


	28. After Action Report

"What the frag is this, Alice?" Red Rose was genuinely angry. Griefer could tell because she had lost her usual deliberate detachment from any sort of planning session. She was leaning forward, hands on the table in front of her, and her eyes were hot. "This is some fragging NONSENSE."

"Red Rose," said Griefer. He had to get the tone right, or things would only spiral further. She looked over.

"What? This is bulldrek and you know it. She went completely off the rails! It's MY hoop if she calls in hatchet team to--what? Protect some fragging BUG?"

"We don't know what powers Mrs. Altpeter possesses. Alice may well have been under some compulsion." Some compulsion too subtle for any of their Awakened members to notice, apparently. The unlikeliness of this possibility was not lost of Red Rose, but she sat back and snorted through her nose. The Peach, who had been sitting very still, relaxed slightly. Buttons's perfect posture hadn't changed a bit through the entire exchange.

"So, in short, you were detected on recon. You spoke with the bee shaman--Samantha Altpeter--who was aware of our Matrix infiltration." The Peach shifted uneasily. She hated to fail her team. "She offered to pay for the safe return of the royal jelly, you met an invested pixie named--"

"Sister."

"--Named Sister. In pink pajamas. Then a bunraku doll came in, pointed a fancy gun at you--"

"Ares Cerberus," said Buttons. "Probably had the chlorine trifluoride rounds loaded, too. Nasty."

"And almost certain got trid of you. And you sat and drank--"

"Held," muttered Alice, looking down. She remembered the ceramic perfection of the doll's face, the uncanny grace of her movements. The slices where her aura was missing, where they had neatly amputated parts of her soul. The sympathy in Mrs. Altpeter's eyes.

"HELD kaf while she and Mrs. Altpeter very genteelly discussed what price they would take for the pixie. Who was not for sale. And then the bunraku doll made some vague threats and left. Vague threats which included you, since she seemed to think that you were part of security for the farm."

"Yes."

Griefer rubbed his eyes. He was getting a headache. "The behavior of the doll is strong evidence for magical compulsion. She should have come in guns blazing--"

"Literally," said Buttons.

"If there is another interruption I am going to be driven to hard drink," said Griefer. Everyone shut their mouths. His tone was light but his hands were clenched. "We have just had a serious loss of operational security. Alice, who I am sure I need not remind anyone is our most vulnerable member in this area, has just gotten the attention of two major players: a hive of insect spirits and the... Yakuza." Everyone heard where he had dropped what he would have called an adverse qualifier. "We got no new information from this mission and made ourselves obvious to the opposition. What are we supposed to do with this mess?"

"Give her back the stuff," said Red Rose. Buttons nodded. "We get paid, we're out, life is good."

"Perhaps," said Griefer. "I still want to know more about why Altpeter wants it so badly. Something odd about that." He wanted to know more. He was thrashing in the shadows here. There was nothing solid to work with. Entities multiplying beyond his ability to cope.

"You're overthinking it," said Red Rose.

"So ka. Here's the plan. Alice, go dark. Whatever they got on you is too much. Buttons, you're on Matrix. Check Yakuza for unusual activity around Alice, bugs, anything that might be relevant. Tread lightly."

"Always do," said Buttons. Finally, something to do. Sometimes everybody talked too much.

"Red Rose, the Peach, you're to check out the bunraku parlors. Alice, did the doll have a tattoo on her cheek or the back of her neck?"

"Yes. A pair of snakes making a circle."

"Kanaga-gumi. Well, that's convenient. I need a drink. I'll call Kozeni and see if I can take him out. Get some information from him. Talk sumo. Maybe learn all about the subtleties of oshi-zumo." He held up his hands. "Anything else? Then let's go."

Alice stopped Red Rose outside the Peach's house. "I'm sorry."

"Frag your sorry," said Red Rose, then softened. "Don't be dumb. Alice." She touched her shoulder, then strode down the street. Alice watched her walk away. She turned to disappear herself.

She wondered what her friends would have said if she'd told them what Mrs. Altpeter had said when she was leaving:

"We can cure you, you know."


End file.
